12/21/12

Poem: The House of Christmas

THERE FARED a mother driven forthOut of an inn to roam;In the place where she was homelessAll men are at home.The crazy stable close at hand,With shaking timber and shifting sand,Grew a stronger thing to abide and standThan the square stones of Rome.For men are homesick in their homes,And strangers under the sun,And they lay their heads in a foreign landWhenever the day is done.Here we have battle and blazing eyes,And chance and honour and high surprise,Where the yule tale was begun.A Child in a foul stable,Where the beasts feed and foam;Only where He was homelessAre you and I at home;We have hands that fashion and heads thatBut our hearts we lost—how long ago!In a place no chart nor ship can showUnder the sky's dome.This world is wild as an old wives' tale,And strange the plain things are,The earth is enough and the air is enoughFor our wonder and our war;But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swingsAnd our peace is put in impossible thingsWhere clashed and thundered unthinkable wingsRound an incredible star.To an open house in the eveningHome shall men come,To an older place than EdenAnd a taller town than Rome.To the end of the way of the wandering star,To the things that cannot be and that are,To the place where God was homelessAnd all men are at home.~G.K. Chesterton